


Only Brave in the Moonlight

by Yuppz



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Character Death, Cross generational issues, Emotional Constipation, Grief/Mourning, Hurt, Loss, M/M, Reincarnation, Repression, Sibling Incest, True Mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-25 12:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12531260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuppz/pseuds/Yuppz
Summary: Elder dwarrows say it is better to have found a jewel, shaped it, set it, and appreciated it for a time then to have never had that jewel at all. Thorin disagrees; better to be closed off, to seek nothing and lose nothing, than to hurt as he has all these years.His nephews have, for better or worse, allowed their uncle's grief to shape them and keep them apart.It goes without saying that one small hobbit, even one who dreams of dragon fire and knows Thorin before they meet, cannot hope to do anything for these three...right?





	1. Prelude: Only Brave In the Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure this has been done but I'm doing it anyway. Because I can.

He remembered this day, this room, this conversation, perfectly. Once it had been a fond memory, something he held close and cherished as one would the most precious of jewels, but now it caused him nothing but regret and pain. It was a reminder of what he'd had and lost and of what might have been, but nothing more. He had no need to relive it in a dream yet he could not stop his feet from moving forward.

His footsteps echoed off the stone as he strode forward, barely muffled by the rich tapestries on the wall. He paid them no mind, knew their rich blue color, gold edging, and the stories they told by heart, not did he spare a glance for the pedestals and the fine jewelry on them, laid around the neck of stone busts, slipped onto smooth stone fingers, and resting on pillars meant to mimic wrists. He knew them all, the various jewels of the royal line, because this was a place he was allowed to be and because some were crafted for him, meant to be worn on formal occasions. They were of no interest to him on that day, when he was young and took such things for granted.

He couldn't have, in his most wild of dreams, imagined the hardship that would follow or how any one of those jewels, chains, rings, or pins would have worked miracles towards feeding and clothing his people.

His focus was on the pedestal in the center of the room, five paired busts on the raised platform, each set on velvet and enclosed in glass, and the young dwarf standing in front of the only open case.

In his hands was a circlet, made of light silver metal woven together to form two braided pieces. They came together in the front to a point,and from that hung a small teardrop shaped blue gem, then separated along the sides. One braid was stiffer and thicker and was the ‘base’ that would circle the head, and the other was a thin chain and looped down to hang, another slightly larger teardrop gem hanging from either side. The thinner braid swept back up to meet the other at the back, where complicated knotwork, each loop saying something and flowing into the next, studded with small diamonds and sapphires came together to join it all together. More thin chains hunt from the knot, more gems dangling from them.

It was a beautiful.

“What are you doing with that?” He asked, mouth moving independent of his thoughts. He knew the answer because he's lived this, had replayed it so many times he could recite both of their parts. His voice was lighter, not just younger but less tired, less burdened. The weight of the years to come had yet to fall upon him and the world had yet to take nearly everything from him.

Here, in this memory, he was a young prince, just turned 62, eight years from his majority. Erebor would not fall for a few months yet and so dwarflings were dwarflings, not forced to grow up before their time. Even he, second in the line of succession and having many responsibilities, was still young and naive in many ways, though the changes in his grandfather troubled him greatly.

The other dwarf was even younger than he was, five years his junior. And very much not allowed in this room or to be touching such important items. It was only Thorin's station that allowed him to be in here at his age, and not for seemingly random or casual visits.

Still Thorin made no attempt to take the circlet from him, though he certainly had the right to do so. The other hummed an acknowledgment of his presence but didn't look away from what he held. Thorin stepped closer, impatient for his answer yet hesitating in demanding it. He didn't understand why, not then, but as a much older dwarf forced to watch a moment past he knew what controlled his tongue.

For dwarrows some things must be given freely and never taken or demanded. He'd known, somehow, that this was something he must be given, something he must wait for. It was not for him to decide the time was right; the time for what he wasn't sure but he obeyed his instincts anyway, let his alpha guide. He'd only presented a year before but his alpha was strong, steady, and he was settling into himself well, or so his father told him.

His grandfather however had been too...sick, to be aware of much aside from the treasury by then. 

“I will wear this one day.” The other declared finally, turning it, the companion to Thorin’s formal coronet, crafted alongside his own for his future mate, in his hands.

There were similar circlets made for his siblings, green gems for Frerin and white for Dis. They were many years from needing such things, but they'd been made shortly after their respective births and would sit until it was time. There was also the Heir Crown and the coronet that matched it, worn by Thorin's parents, and the Raven Crown and Raven Coronet, the latter of which had not rested on anyone's brow for nearly two decades. Both would one day be Thorin's and his mates, if he had one by then, but he hoped it was many years off.

“I wanted to be sure it would fit.” The other added after a moment of silence.

Thorin laughed and the tired dwarf watching it all play out through the prince's eyes cringed. If he could do this moment over he would be kinder, softer, more gentle with this information.

“And why, exactly, do you think you'll be wearing this?”

“I know it.” There was conviction in that voice, unshakeable confidence. He had been so sure. “You, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, are going to marry me.”

He laughed again, louder this time. He didn't mean to mock but in that moment it seemed so impossible an outcome. Them, married? No, Thorin would have to mate with one who could bare, probably selected by his grandfather or father. Both Thror and Thrain had been tied in arranged marriages, to dams of good breeding, high status, and the intelligence to navigate court affairs and so to would Thorin. This was something he'd known all his life and accepted as inevitable. Love and romantic notions of Ones and True Mates were not for royalty. It didn't mean they couldn't be happy, Thorin’s parents loved one another even though it was an arrangement and they were not soul mates. Thror had loved his wife fiercely, though all knew he hadn't really been inclined to marriage and mating. They'd been friends, had trust, and ruled well together.

Thorin thought such an arrangement sounded more than acceptable in his youth. He knew better now.

He had missed the way the other's hands shook then but he saw it now and cursed his own cruelty. How could he have been so thoughtless, so short sighted.

“You would laugh?”

Thorin cocked his head to the side, humor fading into confusion. Was he serious? He couldn't be, he knew how things were to go just as well as Thorin did. “Is this not a joke? You can't mean it; you know I must have heirs and you are-"

“I am what?” Finally his companion faced him, mouth pressed into a bloodless line. He stepped towards Thorin, moved quickly into his personal space, and looked up at him, blue eyes pale beneath near colorless lashes. “What am I?”

Thorin inhaled, shocked by the intensity he was being faced with, and then...stopped. The word seemed to dim around him and slow down, all the sounds of the mountain outside of the room growing muffled. He was still growing into himself, his senses were not nearly as strong as they would one day become, and he was still confused by scents and how to separate out all the ‘noise’ and tell what dynamic a person was. But in that room where it was just the two of them he knew.

It was light, barely there at all; he knew, in the way his instincts turned sensory information into things that made sense, that the scent and the one who carried it weren't quite mature yet. Close, in body if not age but omegas often presented young compared to betas and alphas, just on the edge of his first season, but not yet there. An omega, going through the first changes.

He must have only just been feeling the first stirrings of the change, would still have years before he was done developing, but it was enough to know. And, it seemed, enough to make his intentions towards Thorin known.

That was startling enough but, on top of that, the soft, almost sweet scent was already calling to him like none of the other omegas he'd met since presenting had. A heaviness  settled in his chest and stomach, his skin tingled, and his heart felt as if...as if it had grown. Or finally come together, a piece he hadn't known was missing sliding into place. It was overwhelming and amazing and insane and right, so right he could feel it down into his bones.

This was his mate and now that he knew it he wondered how he'd ever not known.

He breathed and the world sped back up.

There was triumph on the other's face. “You will marry me, I will sit beside you in all things, and we will-” (he blushed here, gold kissed skin darkening,  and stumbled over his words. He was so young, and he knew what he wanted but he didn't really know. Neither of them did.) “We will have kits. Lots of them. The line will see no shortage with us.”

He opened his mouth. Then shut it, looking away, face blazing hot with embarrassment. He didn't know what to say to that, had never imagined he'd be the target of such a shameless proposal! What he was saying, what he was promising it was...almost obscene, the implications (and the way heat pooled low on his stomach was just as bad.) It was beyond a bold deceleration but then dams, those who could bare, had the right to be as upfront as they desired. One may approach a dam and ask to court them, bringing the first traditional gifts, but it was always the dam who decided if things would progress by making a declaration of intent. They gave permission to be pursued, or started the pursuit themselves, made the rules, and set the pace. Courting and mating bent to the omega, always. Their wishes were to be respected and adhered to, for having a dam declare their intent towards a person was an honor indeed.

An unexpected, and dubious, one in this case. He hadn't...this was something he’d never imagined and now it was in front of him, in the form of his younger brother. Frerin, who he loved completely but had never looked at in any way but as a brother and friend. Was he to change now, so suddenly, just like that?

But there was no denying that standing close to Frerin was making him feel strange, hot all over, shaky, breathless and off balance. He didn't understand. Why-how...

“I have things to attend to.” He said, swallowing hard. “Return that to its case when you're done with it.”

He left, walking stiffly and trying to will away the flush of heat that had settled in his body. He didn't look back but he, the Thorin that had lived this, wanted to. He raged inside his young body, swore and shouted and oh, if he could do it over he would do this right. Smaug would be upon them soon and everything would change.

He had wasted time.

If he could go back, change this one moment, he would take the circlet from his hands and place it upon golden hair. He would take his time, set it just so, and commit the sight of silver and gems set against hair he himself had combed free of tangles that morning, the way the chains would hang and slide against golden tresses, the flashes of blue and glittering white.

If he could do it over with the knowledge of Thorin, king in exile, he would have accepted his brother then and there, and dealt with the rest as it came. He would not have let precious months slip through his fingers as he struggled with understanding where they now stood with one another. But there were no do overs, not even in his dream, and Frerin would never wear that circlet.

He woke up with a hollow feeling in his chest and the bright light of stars above him. It was a familiar ache, raw and always ragged at the edges, catching at stray thoughts, as if it were a still sensitive physical scar instead of a wound that could be seen by none and soothed by no herbs or healing, at the most random of times and paining him anew. The smallest thing made him think of Frerin, dragged him over a hundred years into his past, and grief as strong as that first day would wash over him. 

He could let nothing stop him, could not falter because the weight of all his people were on his shoulders, but sometimes he thought memories of Frerin would be his undoing. The temptation to close his eyes and never open them again was always there, so wrapped up in everything that was his brother that he could no longer separate it all.

It was always at its worst after the dreams, the hurt so great it made it hard to breathe. A weight sat on his chest, threatened to crush him.

His mother had told him, after Thrain vanished and Frerin's body burned down to ash, that it was better to have a gem and appreciate it for a time then lose it than to never have that gem at all but, as he rubbed at his chest just above where the ache was worst, he knew that wasn't true.

As much as he wished he could undo that moment and give Frerin that circlet he also wished he could make it so hed never looked for his brother that day, never entered that small treasury room, never breathed in his scent. 

He would erase ever loving his brother if he could. 

\----

Somewhere else Bilbo Baggins woke up from a queer dream with an ache in his chest and a name on his lips.

“Thorin.” He murmured sleepily into the dark as he placed a hand over his heart. What a peculiar name and an even more peculiar dream.

And yet, it would turn out, this dream was not the strangest part of his day. That honor would go to the wizard who came to visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Stay 'Til Sunrise: In the past Frerin takes drastic measures. In the present Bilbo has tea with an old family friend.


	2. Stay 'Til Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo hasn't dreamed in years but the night before Gandalf arrives he does just that.

 

Bilbo was no stranger to peculiar dreams but he had to say this one was, somehow, odder than he recalled them being. Something about it felt different, so tangible he half expected to pull it back into the waking world with him, and it was...unexpected, to say the least. It followed him through his day, right up until the wizard came to call upon him.

He'd been having strange dreams more or less all his life; they came and went at random, no pattern to them. Sometimes he had them a few times a week for weeks on end and other times he might go without for months or even years. The location changed, the seasons did as well, sometimes he was a fau- no, a dwarfling and others a tween and sometimes an adult. He could be alone or surrounded by people, doing something important or, just as easily, doing nothing but sitting before a fire.

What never changed was who Bilbo was in his dreams: a dwarf. Male, with blue eyes, blonde hair that had a tendency to tangle and knot (and earn him a lot of scolding), a broad nose, and a crooked smile, all seen in glimpses in mirrors and water.

He didn't know his name. The dreams always seemed to miss calling people by name.

He was a prince, or so people calling him highness led him to believe, and sometimes Bilbo wanted to shake his head at his arrogance. Imagine, dreaming himself as a prince, decked out in furs and jewels, bowed and catered to by all around him, encouraged to learn to fight and wield a weapon. It was so very unlike his life in Hobbiton that it was laughable. But that was probably the point, imagining himself as someone strong and outspoken, someone important. And that he’d make himself a dwarf made sense: he didn't know anything about them so he could imagine their way of life as anything he desired and, it seemed, what he desired was a life very different from that of a hobbit.

Something more like the story books his mother brought back from her trips to Bree.

Another thing that stayed constant was the family he imagined for himself. Siblings, an older brother and a younger sister, both dark haired and blue eyed. When he was young he dreamt of playing with them, sneaking around a large stone city, seeking out secret tunnels and nooks, learning to fight and wield a sword, all terribly exciting things. When they were older he spent more time with his sister, who he claimed to find annoying, spoiled, and childish but secretly considered his closest friend. His brother was...a strange matter, marked by a butterfly wing fluttering in his stomach, blushes, and a longing Bilbo wasn't so sure was appropriate for one to feel for a brother.

There was another dwarf, copper haired with round, broad features, thickly built with a short beard adorned in gems, who he called mother; she taught him to play a fiddle and to sing, oversaw his weapons lessons, and braided his hair before events where he needed to be at his best. Later, when her own hair was going gray and her smile less bright, she sat to the side and instructed his brother in how to do the job in her stead, patient as she shook her head and had him start again and again, always stressing how important it was to get these ones just right. That was a dream he had over and over, without being able to understand why it was so important.

There was a dwarf with a severe face, sharp, fine features and a near constant frown, but a soft smile on rare occasions, who was his father. He taught him to work in metals and keep a steady hand to avoid burns or flaws in his work, brought him books, toys, and other new trinkets, and drug him from bed to attend to ponies and dogs while lecturing him about duty and responsibility.

There was a one other dwarf he saw often, at first kind and fond then increasingly erratic and unfocused, impatient with him except when trying to get something or in increasingly fleeting moments where whatever strangeness that consumed him would loosen its grip, who he knew as his grandfather. There were friends and cousins as well but it was those five he saw most of.

He knew it was strange to think up such an elaborate family when he had loving parents of his own but also different and fun; he cherished them, in a way, even though he knew it wasn’t real.

It was different from his life and made him want to seek out adventures and new people. He'd stalked the woods with his wooden sword looking for elves and watched the roads for dwarrows, once his mother told him those were the people in his dreams. He was a curious child with his head in the clouds, writing down and drawing the things he dreamed of, much to his mother's delight. His father had always been...less encouraging, but indulgent. He was very clear that Bilbo needed ‘real’ friends and that it wasn’t proper for an omega to be so flighty, but as long as he kept up with lessons and chores Bungo let him have his fun.

After his parents passed the dreams stopped. He lost his real family and his dwarf family all in one terrible winter and he’d scarcely had time to grieve for either, no matter how *real* losing both felt. Childish flights of fancy had been forced aside in favor of being an adult right away. There had been some who thought his parents’ property and tenants best left in the hands of an older Alpha or Beta relative, pointing at to him being too ‘emotionally distressed’ and of ‘delicate omegan constitution’ as the reasons why. Why, it was just improper for him to try to run things on his own without his parents or a mate to oversee, or so people had said.

Time had dulled the memories of his dreams, covered the sharp realistic world in cotton soft nostalgia. He didn’t forget it but much of the detail faded away and while he remembered it fondly he stopped longing for it, and the strange ache of loss went away. He was better for it, it didn’t make sense to mourn a dream and people who didn’t exist   

So while he was no stranger to the dreams it had also been many many years since he'd had on and he was surprised, in the dimly aware way that ‘Bilbo’ felt anything during these dreams, to find himself in one.

_It wasn’t one he’d before, of that he was certain. He was walking along a stone path in a great indoor garden and he knew, as he took it all in, that if he’d dreamed this before he would not have forgotten it. The area was huge, easily the size of Farmer Maggot’s fields, and cavernous. The ceiling was far overhead and, unlike the winter grow houses he knew from Hobbiton, there was no glass or sky above but, rather, light. The light was bright and white, coming from rounded gems set directly into the sloped gray stone._

_All around him was lush green grass, bushes in spiraling patterns, patches of flowers arranged artfully, and farther back from the path he was on large trees of all sorts. Some were flowering, others starting to bare fruit, and some with long hanging branches and leaves like curtains, drifting along the small streams that zig-zagged across the grounds. The streams all lead to the back wall where water was tumbling down, burbling softly as it trickled over the juts and pits in the dark gray, mossy surface, before meeting a large pool of water._

_There were stone benches for sitting and sculptures scattered about, some set in stone basins and spilling water. There was something wild to the place, in the way ivy crawled over the statues and the grass grew just a little too long and the flowers crowded each other just so. As impressive as it was there were not many in the Shire, where pride was taking in order, maintenance, and keeping a manicured walk-up, who would appreciate it._

_Bilbo found himself a bit sad it wasn’t a real place yet, at the forefront of his mind, he could tell his ‘dwarf’ self didn’t care much for it. It was his sister’s favorite place in the mountain and a place his grandfather thought of fondly because his grandmother had loved it so. The king was always a bit kinder and more lucid in the park and he needed both of those things in as large an amount as he could get._

_His grandfather was at his side, dressed in layers of fur and fine cloth, large crown on his head, and elaborate braided beard boasting enough jewelry to go well past ‘King looking his best’ and into gaudy and over the top. It was a walk in the garden, Bilbo groused silently, not a state dinner or a chance to show up the elves. His hands were clasped behind his back and he looked almost at ease, more present and content than he had in some time._

_“Thank you for coming to meet me.” Bilbo said, breaking the silence between them._

_His grandfather nodded, a hint of a smile showing at the corner of his eyes. “I couldn’t refuse my grandson, could I?” Yes, Bilbo didn’t say. “And it is important we talk. An omega hadn’t been born to our line in many years; you’ve done us proud.”_

_He hadn’t actually done anything except take after his mother, which wasn’t much to be proud of in his opinion. He knew it was being celebrated; his parents were already considered favored for having three children, a sign of Mahal’s favor when most struggled for one, but to have a daughter and an omega son? It was a blessing and boded well, in the opinions of many, for the future of their line. There was no greater treasure than children, even his grandfather still believed that, and if that had him in a favorable mood far be it for him to protest it._

_Especially not when it lead so neatly into what he wanted to speak of._

_“Some of the nobles have begun to announce their sons as potential suitors for you, as they’ve been doing for your sister all her life.” his grandfather added, mouth twisting in displeasure. “You’re much too young and I won’t have anyone trying to force the issue before it’s time. I will find the best match for you, someone worthy of the line. I’ll not have a Durin omega tied to anyone who can’t offer a considerable damprice. It will take time, and considerable courting, to find the best options.”_

_There was a gleam to the other dwarf’s eye as his grandfather looked at him. It was familiar to him and made worry bloom in his chest.  He didn’t like it at the best of times and most certainly didn’t want it aimed towards him as if he were just another trinket in the treasury._

_“You can tell the nobles there is no need for them to present their sons.” He said, carefully weighing each word and standing straighter. He’d done this dozens of time in his head, practiced in the mirror to make sure he looked steady and confident, that he didn’t waver. He was an omega and a Durin, that meant showing only strength at all times. He couldn’t afford to ever let doubt or weakness bend his spine. “I’ve already found the dwarf I’ll marry.”_

_His grandfather looked taken aback, a rare thing for him, then his brows furrowed and his expression turned stormy. “You think you’ve found your mate? You’ve barely come into your scent and your teeth haven’t dropped! If the healer hadn’t confirmed the change was starting no one would be-”_

_“Thorin knows my scent.” He cut the king off; it wasn’t something to be done lightly but in this it was necessary. “And I’ve felt the Pull for months now, as soon as I felt the change coming.”_

_His grandfather’s mouth hung open for a second and then his eyes narrowed, went dark. “Thorin. You’ve called me here to declare your brother as your true mate.”_

_It was made to sound more like an accusation than a question but he nodded anyway, refusing to break eye contact or bow his head. His grandfather was the king, his king, and the head of their familial pack. He would obey and show respect, as one would for the alpha head, but he couldn’t be cowed here. (Distantly Bilbo turned the name over in his head. Thorin; all this time and this was the first name he’d heard. His brother and...mate?)_

_His grandfather turned away first, something cold and hard as ice in his eyes. “And where is your brother? Why are you declaring alone?”_

_He blinked then rocked back on his heels, a flush creeping up his neck. “Thorin needs...time.”_

_“He’s rejected you?”_

_“No!” He shouted then, eyes darting around, lowered his voice. The park was cleared out for them, save guards hidden from sight, but it wouldn’t do to get so riled up. He had to remain calm. “He...hasn’t come to think of me as more than his brother yet. It will take time.”_

_And they had it; he was thirteen years from being of age and further still from the age most would marry at. His grandfather hummed noncommittally. “I don’t need his permission to make my intention known and get your approval. It’s my right and...it’s a good match. Thorin will be a good king no matter who is at his side, but he’d be better with me as consort. I have been raised as a potential heir, I know the duties of consort; there is no one more equipped than me, save Dis. There’s no doubt about the fitness of my bloodline or...potential fertility. Our people already care for me, more than they would any from outside the mountain or our line.”_

_“You’ve put thought into this.” A beat then, thoughtfully. “It would be a fair match. And it would ensure you and what belongs to you remain here, in Erebor.”_

_His inheritance is what he meant, something his grandfather would have been loathe to part with if a match was made with someone outside of the mountain, even if it was in exchange for a considerable damprice. That would probably do more to sway things in his favor than anything else, a lucky thing considering he wasn’t quite done._

_“Yes and, if you’ll grant your permission, there is one more thing I’d ask. I want to be removed from the registry.”_

_“You want-”_

_“To be removed from the family. I want to renounce my name and titles, to become the son of no one.” He said it stiffly, formally; the words were still strange on his tongue even after all his practice._

_His grandfather breathed in and held it, not even blinking for what seemed to be forever. The sound of the waterfall rose from background noise to being near deafening as he waited for a reaction. His hands curled at his sides, nails pushing into his palm so hard he feared the skin would split._

_“This is for Thorin.” His grandfather said, reminding him that he was still sharp and capable, no matter what else may have happened over the years._

_Denying it would do him no good. In truth Thorin had been avoiding him for weeks, skulking into their quarters late at night, if he bothered to at all, and leaving before the sun rose, spending more time on his duties that were separate from his own, and somehow always managing to have one of their cousins between them when they had to be together. One the few occasions they’d been alone his brother had been visibly uneasy with his presence. It was maddening. Not because he feared being rejected as a mate but because he felt he was losing his brother faster than he could stop it from happening._

_And he would have stopped it if he could, He loved his brother, had wanted...and he had been pleased beyond words when he’d felt the first flutterings of the Pull, that near indescribable thing that drew him towards his brother, stole his breath when they were closer, and made his skin burn when they touched. But given the choice he would have Thorin as a brother above all else. It wasn’t even something he would hesitate over, ever._

_But Thorin wasn’t giving him a choice, which had lead him to decide that if such a thing was going to happen then it would be on his own terms. That too was his right as a noble omega._

_“He’s unsure, because I’m his brother. No longer being his brother seems the most obvious solution.” He reached into his pocket to fish out the parchment he’d written his official request on, careful to make it clear and neat, then stamped inside and out with his seal in wax. There could be no mistakes about what it said or who had written it. “I’ve spoken with Fundin, he and his alpha have agreed to foster me until I’m of age. Balin’s moved out, months ago, so they have the space.”_

_His grandfather plucked the letter from his hands, face unreadable. “You take after your grandmother.”_

_“...is that a compliment?” Some had less than kind things to say about Blacklock dwarrows, and especially their omegas (stubborn, foul tempered, and borderline feral all came to mind) but none would have dared speak of the late queen badly._

_His grandfather tucked away the letter and, without another word, turned to continue strolling down the path._

It was a strange dream indeed. Normally he could find some bit of himself in them, a reason that it had come to be, but in this there was nothing. Renouncing a family that loved him so greatly, making declarations of intent towards an alpha, staring down a king (even an imaginary one) were things he couldn’t ever fathom himself doing. Not even a dwarf version of himself.

To say nothing of being in love with his brother. He could have thought up any dwarf to be his imaginary mate and he’d chosen a sibling. _Thorin_ , and why did just thinking that name make chills run up his spine. Daring to mouth it silently to himself, to say it outloud, had the most unusual effect on his heart and stomach.

Gandalf’s arrival was a needed distraction. He didn’t really remember the wizard very well, save attacking his ankles with his toy sword once or twice before being chased off by his mother, but any friend of his parent’s was welcome at Bag End. Or would have been if he hadn’t launched into confusing talk of adventures.

“Absolutely not. No. No adventures for anyone here.” Bilbo repeated, pointing the end of his pipe at the wizard. Gandalf stared down at him, expression mild. “Why it’s just-I cannot possibly-I’m an omega, you know. I can’t just go wherever I want.”

He was already considered rather odd, being as old as he was and unmated and known to have run a bit wild in his youth. Add in that he’d fought so hard to do things on his own when it had been expected of him to be accepted under the authority of a related alpha until he found a mate of his own and it was hard to imagine most people’s view of him could get much lower but! If anything were to do it then running off on some adventure would be it.

His mother had done such things, going wherever she fancied, but she’d been an alpha and that had allowed her some freedom in such matters. And she’d mostly settled down after she married into the very respectable Baggins family and had a child, which had gone even further to counterbalancing her wild days.

And even if it hadn’t speaking poorly of the dead just wasn’t done.

Bilbo was very much alive and speaking poorly of him was done fairly often.

“Are you?” Gandalf eyed him thoughtfully. “You know I’m rather fond of Hobbits. I believe the best our world has to offer can be found in the Shire, in many aspects. But the odd notions you have based on your dynamics, I can’t say that I’ll ever understand them. Why should you be unable to decide where you go because you’re one thing or another? Do you think Dwarrow omegas let others-”

Bilbo sat up straighter. “Dwarrow? Why would- why would you bring up dwarrow?”

Gandalf made a dismissive gesture. “Because they’d be your companions on this adventure, of course, and I have it on very good authority that a number of Thorin’s company-”

“ _Thorin_ ?” The pitch Bilbo’s voice rose to was a bit alarming but he couldn’t let himself think of that. Not when Gandalf was looking at him with very obvious concern.  
“The...alpha pack leader, I believe they call it.” The wizard’s gaze turned sharp and his tone changed, gained an edge. “Do you know the name?”

Bilbo hesitated, teeth worrying over his bottom lip. Did he? Well, yes, he did but it was a coincidence, wasn’t it? It must have been a common name among the dwarrows, something he’d overheard while dealing with them in the market. And it had appeared in his dream. The first dream he’d had in well over twenty years.

The first one to include a name.

...had there been any dwarrow in the Hobbiton Market lately?

“Would this relate to certain dreams your mother asked me about” The wizard asked, the picture of casual curiosity. “Your father was worried so she reached out to an old friend or two, myself included. It was the reason I visited when you were young.”

Bilbo bit his lip harder. He hadn’t known that; his mother had never let on that she’d done any such thing. He remembered his father’s concern but his mother...had always told him to write it all down. Every details, and bought him inks and pencils and even more paper to draw with, then collected it all into journals.

Had that been to encourage or to present to others?

“I told her to leave it be, unless something strange were to occur.” Gandalf paused meaningfully, eyebrows rising. “Has something strange occured?”

Bilbo looked down at his hands. “Is it a common name?”

“Thorin? No. I know of only two currently living, and one before them. It isn’t a name one is likely to overhear.”

“...perhaps you would come in for tea? I believe I need some tea.”

And maybe some whiskey in his tea.

\---

Hours, and a lot of tea, later Gandalf set down the last of Bilbo's old journals and nodded once, firmly. "I know what we will do." 

Bilbo sighed in relief. He'd become increasingly anxious as Gandalf listened to him speak about his dreams and read the old journals with no comment beyond "repeat it again, miss no detail" but maybe he'd been wrong to be worried. 

"I'll return tomorrow with Thorin and his company. Supper time, if you don't mind." 

Bilbo nodded eagerly. "And then?" 

"You'll hear about the journey, it's best told by those who are most invested, and hopefully decide to come along." Gandalf said as he rose to his feet. "I am more certain than ever you are needed on this quest." 

"Wait-" 

"I'll see you tomorrow Bilbo, and we shall get to the bottom of this. But perhaps dont mention it to the dwarrows, that would cause...issues."

"Issues?" Bilbo echoed but the wizard was already leaving the kitchen in a flurry of robes and hat. He was in such a rush he only just missed hitting his head on the chandelier. Bilbo scrambled to follow him but couldn't get a word in edgewise. All too soon the wizard was vanishing down the lane and Bilbo was left gaping at his back.

That hadn't been what he expected at all.

The rest of the day passed normally enough, with no further visitors or oddities, but a fair amount of fretting. He went to be early and was happy to do so.

That night Bilbo dreamed of fire.


End file.
